


stupid, stupid, love

by WinnieeeJ



Series: songwriters [2]
Category: Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinnieeeJ/pseuds/WinnieeeJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You should've known</p>
            </blockquote>





	stupid, stupid, love

You should have seen it coming.  From the very first meeting, you were hooked. And maybe even before that, when you were just another first year watching the archery club while they trained. In your mind’s eye you can see her there, calm and collected, with an almost noble air as she draws back the bowstring.  Her golden gaze is unwavering when she looses the bolt, a plunk then a thud. Bullseye. She allows herself only a small smile before getting back at it. Humble, you think.

When you actually meet her, you think frazzled. She is clearly the practical one of the trio, the one who says “how” after the others have come up with the “what”. After seeing Honoka in action, her role seems even more impressive. You’re not entirely sure that  **you** could deal with that much craziness. Her introduction is formal, a result of rote. You almost laugh at its seriousness. Maybe that’s the correct amount of sobriety that should be exchanged between the songwriters of a small idol group, though it’s hard to see the next pop hit coming from this stern visage. But you could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Through hours spent at the school’s piano, your piano, and numerous other rooms, you start to really get to know her. The initial formality wears off as does the awkwardness of critiquing another’s work. The rhythm of repeating passages, altering phrases, crossing out mishaps comes so easy now it’s hard believe that this was once foreign to you. It’s… nice. Nice to be somewhere that you can drop the ice queen façade and simply be you. Umi doesn’t say anything of your bluntness; she doesn’t mind your jabs.  Which she meets with her own dry humor. Leaning against her shoulder, it almost feels criminal to be this comfortable around someone else. And when the dust mote-y light of a low sun hits her skin, you wonder if this relaxed friendship changed to something else while you weren’t looking. Something else that leaves butterflies in your stomach.

Love. It’s funny how many love songs you’ve written together despite having almost no experience. You wonder if Umi feels the same way. She’s certainly good of at least emulating it, with words that sing of crushes and the wobbly newness of young love. She still blushes while reading her own lyrics and you wonder if in some way it’s a confession of her own feelings. Your own face reddens at the thought. Never mind that. You’ve got a new song to compose for, and so far it’s been throwing you through the wringer.  It’s stupid that you can’t even come up with a decent hook, stupid that you’re having trouble with a basic duet. Umi doesn’t seem to be faring any better herself, practically dying when she reads her writing aloud. You actually end up at your house because fuck it, this is getting finished today or at least in the early hours of tomorrow. You can’t actually remember the last time you pulled an allnighter… god this is going to be awful.

And it is, in a way. At this point your bloodstream is probably half coffee and you’re so tired dying seems like an ok alternative.  Umi is sprawled over the floor in a spectacularly un-Umi fashion and if you weren’t so goddamn exhausted you would be teasing her about it. It’s still a little disconcerting to see her slouching and slurring where normally she has ramrod posture and clean articulation. In fact, sleepy Umi is so amiable she practically sits on top of you in order to say something in your ear. You want to be pissed, but Umi is pleasantly warm and the way her voice resonates through your body is…enjoyable? It’s a little hard to hear what she’s actually saying though. Something about crimson hair and bird boned fingers, and OH god is she quoting poetry at you?  Now you  **actually** want to die. Umi seems so solemn while mumbling expansive metaphors about beauty and wit and love; you feel your face heating up. Your heart is going at 1000 bpm and you really hope that’s a side effect of the caffeine. She eventually putters out and falls asleep with her head on your shoulder; you sigh and try to collect yourself but you can’t stop thinking about her. God.

The next morning is business as usual. Umi doesn’t seem to remember anything about last night and you’re not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. On one hand, that means your easy friendship can remain as it is. On the other hand, you’re not entirely sure you want it to remain unchanged.  But you were never one to act on your feelings so you put on nonchalant air and pretend like you aren’t running through last night over and over again. Her eyes half lidded and voice rambling along middle C. The way her hand casually brushed over yours. Everything and anything. You should’ve seen it coming. Love; stupid, stupid, love.


End file.
